


Running In The Shadows

by cyberkogane



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Lance just wants to help, M/M, Serial Killer, Slow Burn, Thriller, and yeah fall in love in the process, but that won't stop lance from trying, keith is awful at opening up, they learn about each other, this story is kinda dark, who is the killer?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:42:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25544581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyberkogane/pseuds/cyberkogane
Summary: Lance is an FBI agent who appears nothing like one should: he is loud, talkative, and eager. But underneath that he is fiercely intelligent with a knack for studying people. He can watch their movement and their eyes, listen to the tone of their voice, and dissect their behavior with no doubt he is right. But as a new string of murders shock a small city in the deep south and he is sent to investigate, he knows that he is going to be tested. His new partner is distant and cold and though Lance knows better, though they are on the job, he just can't help but want to tear down the man's walls and figure him out. There's shadows surrounding him and if there is anything Lance is, it is the light.
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 24





	Running In The Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a playlist for this story! (( [Running in the Shadows](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7tp9Kz782EszpjGdk5RSWl?si=100TsLubQWqXlE9TcYhMCg) ))
> 
> Sorry if there are any errors!

On August 23rd, Shiro wakes to a phone call at three in the morning. He’s bleary eyed and his body aches, muscles tense and sore from a late workout. He glances at the time and curses, realizing he’d only gotten two hours of sleep. Outside, the wind brushes the limbs of a tree and it sounds ghostly, haunted, a testament to irony.  
  
“Shirogane.” He mutters, leaning over the bed before wiping a hand down the length of his face.  
  
He holds back a yawn, trying desperately to fight off the fatigue.  
  
“Shiro.” Coran answers, usually full of energy, though not so much now. “You’re needed on scene.”  
  
“Fuck.” He curses again, “Address?”  
  
“873 Bellcreek Road. Crystal county. Triple homicide, it seems.”  
  
As always, his stomach sinks. It feels like seven heavy stones have been dropped on him, threatening to crush him. Instead, he stands and stretches, confirming that he's on his way.  
  
Most nights go like this. He’s only twenty four and already he’s seen things he would love to forget; death, violence, cruelty. But though he is tired and though he is distraught by the news, he knows how to compartmentalize. It’s easier now than it was two years ago when he’d gotten his first call.  
  
Yet, when he arrives and steps foot onto the property, that easiness dissipates.  
  
“One survivor.” His coworker says, “A kid.”  
  
Walking to the door is a slow torment. Flashing blue and red lights frame the space behind him, onlookers stand whispering in the street, yellow police tape flutters in the wind. The bodies have not been moved and he is shocked by how frigid the inside of the house is, a stark difference to the heat outside.  
  
Frames are knocked from the walls, glass crunching beneath his feet. It’s the only sound other than the click of cameras, the CSI team working diligently to collect anything and everything that can be used as evidence. Though lights are turned on, he can see shadows in this house. Violent shadows, the kind that are not connected to the murder, the kind that ooze into everyday life.  
  
The kitchen is tidy and clean, a strange opposition to the rest of the place. Doors are split from the hinges, several holes lining the walls and fuck, Shiro hasn’t seen this much blood in a very long time. It is splattered on the walls and the floors, puddles soaking into carpet.  
  
The first body is that of a woman, her short black hair covering most of her face. Her body is covered in stab wounds, a bullet lodged in the gore of her chest. Shiro can’t see her eyes but he knows they stare wide, her hand reaching forever. He follows the length of it and settles on a closet, where a man stands and waits.  
  
“He inside?” Shiro asks and the guy nods, looking sympathetic.  
  
Shiro opens the closet door slowly and squats, meeting the eyes of a young boy.  
  
“Hello.” He says, quiet and gentle. “My name is Shiro. I won’t hurt you.”  
  
The boy is silent.  
  
“Would you like to come out?”  
  
Nothing.  
  
So, Shiro moves to completely block the view of the victim. At this, the boy stops staring at her. His eyes are wide but glazed, dissociation easy to spot in anyone, let alone a child. Shiro knows that it won’t do to talk to him now. He’ll be unresponsive, unable to form the words he needs to speak.  
  
‘You don’t have to say anything.” Shiro reaches forward, slowly, before placing a calm hand on the boy’s arm. “But i’m going to have to lift you now, okay? I’m going to bring you somewhere safe.”  
  
When he takes the boy into his arms, he cradles his head, keeping his face within the crook of his neck. The boy is freezing, shivering, but he doesn’t cry.  
  
He never cries. 

* * *

**TEN YEARS LATER**

Lance walks into headquarters with a bag of bagels, half priced at the supermarket but hot and fresh.  
  
“Look what I got!” He says loudly, holding up the bag for his partner to see.  
  
His partner who, without a doubt, hates his fucking guts.  
  
“You like bagels, right?” He asks, sitting in his seat with a whoosh. It’s raining outside and he isn’t afraid to bring it up. “I walked through a typhoon for these babies. You gotta try one!”  
  
Keith Kogane looks at him like he wishes Lance were dead. He’s a quiet guy, that much Lance has gathered from their first four days together. He’s serious and precise and smart as hell. And, of course, handsome enough to make Lance’s stomach tighten.  
  
Nerves? He wishes they were roils of disgust. But when he looks at Keith and sees the way he chews on a toothpick, a damn _toothpick_ , his gaze hyperfocuses on his lips.  
  
“Sooo.” Lance leans back in his chair and opens the bag, “Want one or not?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Silence.  
  
Fuck, Lance hates the silence. 

It reminds him of when they first met, how the office had seemed to hold their breath, like this guy was a bomb waiting to go off.   
  
With a sigh, Lance bites into his bagel pitifully. There’s a new file on his desk but he can’t bring himself to open it yet. He stands instead and pushes the bag to Keith, not even bothering to let him know that he’ll be back.  
  
He wanders into the common room and smells coffee, glad to pour himself a cup. Hunk is already there, stirring sugar into his own.  
  
“Anything new?” He asks, glancing at Keith. The common room has blinds but they’re never lowered, always giving everyone a clear view.  
  
“Nope.” Lance leans against the counter, “Just glares. I’m starting to think I did something to him in a past life. Maybe I killed him.”  
  
“You? A killer?” Hunks scoffs, “That’d be a plot twist.”  
  
Lance laughs too but it’s halfhearted. It truly bothers him that this new guy is so standoffish, as if Lance had done something to ruin his whole damn week. “What do you know about him?”  
  
Hunk shrugs, “I know what everyone else knows. He was sent from DC. He did a lot of undercover work, rooting out traffickers and breaking international cold cases.”  
  
“Serious shit.”  
  
“We all do serious shit, buddy. It’s the FBI.”  
  
Lance nods, “Yeah, I know. But this guy has baggage. I can tell.”  
  
He watches Keith reach for the bag and for a split moment he is genuinely excited. Could he be ready to eat one? Is this a first step?  
  
But then the bag is tossed back onto Lance’s desk and his excitement plummets, a scowl settling on his face.  
  
“What a dick.”  
  
When he returns, he picks up the bagel that came out of the bag and shoves it back in, ignoring the glance that garners from Keith. It’s not like the guy is going to apologize. So, Lance keeps the bag in the space between them, a physical representation of their divide. Childish maybe, but it makes him feel a bit better. 

Sipping his coffee, he opens the case file and begins to read, eyes scouring the details. He holds a highlighter in one hand and begins to highlight everything he deems important, working fast.  
  
“They wanna close it.”  
  
At the sound of Keith’s voice, Lance’s attention is snapped. He looks up, finding the guy already staring at him. His toothpick rolls with his tongue, brought to the other side of his mouth.  
  
“It’s the third homicide in two weeks. It could be serial.”  
  
Keith nods, “And they wanna make it cold. The local precinct doesn't even want to bother with it, thinkin' it'll just go away.”  
  
“Fuck.” Lance flips a page and looks at the autopsies, sliding copied photos of the gruesome crime scenes. “All home invasions, no suspects, no living victims. Families.”  
  
At this, Keith stands. He takes the toothpick from his mouth and nods his head toward the Chief’s office. “She wants to see us.”  
  
“Couldn’t have told me earlier?”  
  
“No.” Keith starts to walk, “You were out gettin’ bagels.”  
  
Lance doesn’t understand how a small statement like that could get under his skin so fast. But it does and he hates it, jaw ticking. He follows his partner and glares at his back, wishing not for the first time that he could just trade him out. But that’s not how this works and he knows it; it’s not high school and a random class, there are no guidance counselors to flip the schedule.  
  
Inside the office, they wait for the Chief to get off of the phone. Lance looks around and finds the room strangely comfortable, with living plants and a wax warmer that smells like summer. He misses the season considering they’re stuck in the middle of winter.  
  
“Alright. Goodbye.” She says, finally turning to hang up. She looks up at them and opens a file. “I take it you’ve read over the new case.”  
  
“Yes.” Keith answers. 

“Right. Then you know that I expect you to pursue it.”  
  
“Of course.” Lance nods.  
  
Allura is the youngest chief in their department and though she is calm, she is a force to be reckoned with. Lance had a crush on her at first, he can admit. And though she remains beautiful, he’s come to respect that she just isn’t interested. On her desk sits a photograph of her girlfriend and he sometimes sees her smiling while on the phone and he wonders, innocently, if that is who she’s talking to.

“Unfortunately, the case is in the state of Louisiana, which means this will be a lengthy stay. Your flights are already set and your tickets are here.” She hands them over, clicking at something on her computer. “Check in every few days. I need updates to hand off to our technical unit. Should you need assistance, don’t hesitate to ask.”  
  
“C’mon, ‘Lura. We got this.” Lance smiles and he sees her relax, just a tad.  
  
But then she is looking at Keith, something different taking hold of her features. It’s a look he hasn’t really seen on her before.  
  
She says, “Lance, step out for a moment.”  
  
He does, but not without a look back. Keith is facing away but he is tense, shoulders set in defense. Allura snaps her eyes to him and Lance quickly shuts the door, knowing his place. And right now, it isn’t in there.

* * *

Later that night, Lance is packing and wishing he’d at least eaten dinner before having to leave for the airport. He shoves clothes into his bag and almost forgets his toothbrush, something he would have definitely regretted by morning. It should only take around two hours to get to Louisiana from New York but he already feels tired, regretting his one day off not being spent snoozing lazily in bed. He’d only just wrapped up a case and though all agents tend to wear themselves thin, he has a habit of never truly recuperating from it. 

He makes it to the airport fifteen minutes early and sits in front of the terminal, watching the rolling of a giant white plane on the runway. He can hear the rumble over the voices and he wonders where all of those people are going. Maybe on vacation, he thinks. Perhaps to visit family or to a new life, in a city far away from this one. Anywhere other than his destination; a dark place, one that is only kept lit by the investigation they will conduct.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Lance startles and looks up at Keith, who is staring at him in that peculiar way of his. “Oh. Hey.”  
  
“Are you ready?”  
  
“Yeah, sure am!” He perks and grabs his carry on, slinging it over a shoulder. “Can’t wait, actually. The south is always warmer than here.”  
  
They give their tickets to the attendant and walk down the hallway, quiet settling between them. He’ll give that to Keith for now. It’’s late, the guy might just be exhausted. But that silence carries heavily into the plane and sticks even while they take off.  
  
“I hate planes.” Lance admits, holding tightly to the seat. He’d given Keith the window, though he wishes he could at least see the stars. “I’m glad it’s a short trip.”  
  
“You’ll be fine.”  
  
“Wow, _thanks_.” Lance mutters, “Really. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. Very reassuring.”  
  
“Don’t be a dick.” Keith leans his seat back and Lance glances to see the empty space behind them.  
  
“Me? A dick?” Lance barks a dry laugh. “Have you met yourself?”

Keith rolls his eyes, more of a reaction than Lance has gotten since he met the guy. It makes him keep his eyes on Keith, on the slope of his jaw and the crests of his cheeks. If he weren’t so grumpy Lance would be able to pick him apart easily. He’s good at that.  
  
“Stop staring at me. It’s weird.”  
  
Lance looks away, frowning. “You just proved my point.”

* * *

Even at night the Louisiana heat makes Lance ache for home. The West coast, though less humid, is similar to this place in the way that winter is a mild thing. He takes his jacket off and breathes deeply, smelling the night air. Crickets are loud in the forest as they drive away from the airport, heading to a remote motel on the highway.  
  
“It’s outside of Lafayette.” Lance says, looking down at the GPS.  
  
Keith nods, driving fast. They make up the distance quickly, passing small cities and a scattering of restaurants and gas stations. The wind ruffles Keith's hair and Lance can see him just enough in the light from the phone. He looks on edge.  
  
“You alright?”  
  
“Fine.” Keith looks over at him, “Why?”  
  
“You seem anxious.” Lance taps the phone to keep the light on, “Do we need to stop?”  
  
Keith shakes his head, “I said I’m fine. I just haven’t slept well lately.”  
  
“From the move?” Lance is hesitant, knowing that at any moment the guy might just throw his walls back up. They’ll be sealed, unbreakable. “You worked in DC, right?”  
  
“I was in England for eight months.” He takes the rented car to the right lane, eyes keeping track of the exits. He’s quiet for a moment, grip tight on the wheel. Then, to Lance’s surprise, he continues. “It’s strange being here, that’s all. I grew up on the coast near New Orleans.”  
  
“Really?” Lance raises his brows, “I didn’t know that.”  
  
“Few people do.”  
  
Ominous, Lance thinks. But true, considering the most he’d learned about him within the last few days is that literally no one knows much about him at all.  
  
“So why’d you tell me?”  
  
Keith looks at him again, just once, before returning his attention to the road. “I don’t know.”  
  
“We’ll blame it on the air, then.” Lance lightens his tone. “It’s fresh. No dumpsters or cigarettes or old food thrown out of taxis. It’s gonna mess with our heads, yanno.” He shoves his phone in his pocket and smirks, “Besides, I think Allura gave us this case on purpose. She wants us to bond.”  
  
It would come as no surprise that they’re close to the motel when they get the call. It’s just their _luck_ that they were so damn close to laying on soft beds and gaining a few hours of sleep, and now they have to turn the car around and drive away.

“It’s like the unsub knew we were here.” Lance says, eyes reflecting blue lights as they pull up to the scene.  
  
Keith says nothing, the first to get out of the car. It takes Lance off guard, the way he barely cares if the door is shut or if Lance is following behind. He just flashes his badge and talks to an officer, though Lance can see the way he’d rather push the guy aside. He seems eager, on his toes and buzzing with energy. It’s so different than his usual demeanor that Lance is slower to get to the tape, nodding distantly at what the guy says.  
  
“-left only one alive.”  
  
“What?” Lance snaps out of it, tearing his eyes away from Keith’s retreating form. “What did you just say?”  
  
“There’s only one survivor. A kid.” The officer looks dumb as shit but Lance knows even he couldn’t mess this up.  
  
“How many are deceased?”  
  
The officer shrugs, “Three or four. I don't know.” He steps aside so Lance can pass.  
  
Around them, the neighborhood is awake. Lights are flicked on, people stand in driveways, there is a dark pulse spreading. Lance ignores it all and walks inside, automatically shivering. He is prone to empathetic tendencies, always connecting himself to those that have lost their lives. He mourns for the families, he stares at the pictures late into the night, he dreams of them. And it is always a painful thing to walk into a home and see the way it has gone to the dark. Where once there was warmth, now there is nothing to say it had been a loving home in the first place.  
  
He sees two bodies in the living room and he bends to see the injuries, eyes roaming over the way the skin is split and the blood is still so dark and wet on the floor. He trails his attention from the bodies to that spilled blood and further, to the way it is splattered onto the wallpaper. It's erratic, as though the killer became covered in it himself.  
  
“Struck from behind.” He whispers, knowing he can’t touch the body but wanting to turn him so that he can see the back of his head. “Initial strike was probably close to lethal, no doubt made him buckle at the knees.”  
  
Lance stands and writes his thoughts down, scribbling them into a small notepad as he looks over every inch of the place that he can. The couch is spotless but the fireplace mantel is in disarray, picture frames thrown to the floor and a crystal vase smashed. His steps crack and crunch against the glass and he stops a third time, looking at the small body in the bathroom. A young boy, no older than thirteen, is curled on the floor in his last defense.  
  
“Were you placed this way on purpose?” He asks aloud, stepping over the body. He squats and finds that the boy has only one wound, placed carefully so that he would die quickly. “Did you trust this person? Is that why he spared you pain?” Lance sighs and writes it down, wanting to move the boy’s hair from his face.  
  
When he steps back into the hallway he sees golden light shining beneath a door. A shadow moves and Lance hurries his pace, remembering that not everyone had died. He pushes the door open slowly, shocked to see that there is no blood or gore. It’s a child’s room, walls painted pink with sail boats and waves. Keith is kneeling, speaking to the girl with a gentle, hushed voice. It surprises Lance, the way he’d assumed Keith would be anywhere but right here. The guy is just so distant and cold and now he is getting the traumatized child to look at him, holding her small hand in his own.  
  
When Lance walks up, the girl freezes and practically throws herself at Keith. He holds her tight and lifts her up, meeting Lance’s eye only to quickly look away again.  
  
“I’m taking her to the medics.” He says, “Check the closet.”  
  
And then he is gone. Lance stares after them but does as Keith suggested, inching open the door to look inside. Blankets are stacked and a bottle of juice lays to the side, several stuffed animals looking dirty and torn. He immediately writes it down and Keith comes back just in time to see him do it.  
  
“They aren’t hers.” He says. His voice is gruff, low and hushed. “Someone gave them to her.”  
  
“She could’ve gotten them dirty herself.” Lance suggests, but they both know that’s a cheap guess.  
  
“They entered through the backyard, probably finding the door unlocked.”  
  
Lance shakes his head, “It was a targeted hit. The perp must’ve known they left it unlocked, he must have watched them. But is it the same killer? They left the kid alive.”  
  
“The other families didn’t have children.” Keith turns and checks out the rest of the room. “But this one had two. They left the youngest, killed the other. That's the only difference. The first killings could have been flukes, he must have been more particular about this one.”  
  
“They did it fast.” Lance turns and Keith has a brow raised, curious. “The boy had only one stab to the neck, right on the carotid artery. It’s a direct pathway from the brain to the heart, a quick bleed out. The others were killed cruelly, multiple stab wounds, gashes on the head, the older man was almost decapitated. This person has a soft spot for children.”  
  
“Or it’s their signature.” Keith suggests, standing fast. “The MO is the family and stalking them for days? Weeks? And they only leave one alive in the aftermath, forming a connection to his other slayings.”  
  
His hands are shaking and Lance pauses, “Are you okay, man?”  
  
Keith looks to him, “Just need some air. Finish up so we can get some sleep. We can talk to the Coroner tomorrow.”  
  
He leaves quickly and though Lance finds it strange considering he’d no doubt taken on cases just as depraved as this, he won’t judge him for it. The guy may be an asshole, but Lance supposes even assholes can be affected by death.  
  
Still, this would make Lance’s first serial case. He tries not to be intimidated by the fact but it’s a scary thing knowing that this isn’t something that will just stop.  
  
It will continue on and on and on, until they can hunt this fucker down. Until they can rip his life, his plans, to fucking _pieces_ .  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been stuck in my head for a while. I hope you give it a chance! I’m not very confident or happy with how I wrote this first chapter but I hope it wasn’t too bad, it’s been a while since I wrote much of anything so I’m rusty. 
> 
> Tumblr: [starshinebf](https://starshinebf.tumblr.com/)


End file.
